


secrets and dandelions

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Still a Witcher, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26395918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “May I help you?” he asked politely as he approached; the man turned to him, mouth twisting oddly. He didn’t look angry, just wholly uncomfortable.“I need—flowers,” the man said gruffly, and Jaskier let out a soft laugh, glancing around.“I hadn’t noticed,” he replied, and got a bit of joy out of the man’s look of embarrassment.He cleared his throat. “Lilacs,” he specified.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 579





	secrets and dandelions

**Author's Note:**

> aka geralt has a crush and his brothers are bastards  
> written for one of my supporters! i struggle with modern aus but i hope yall still enjoy!
> 
> twitter: queermight / korrwrites  
> tumblr: korrmin

A flower shop hadn’t been Jaskier’s first choice. He’d been young and in desperate need for money when one of his friends mentioned they were looking for employees and he’d decided _well_ , why the fuck not? It was an easy enough job and the hours weren’t too bad, which gave him plenty of time to work on his music after his shift. And even _during_ his shift if his boss wasn’t around and there were no customers.

Not to mention, he was a _bit_ of a hopeless romantic and most of their customers were looking for flowers for their beloved.

Jaskier enjoyed showing them all the prettiest flowers and explaining their meanings. “Well, if _I_ was your beloved—hypothetically, of course,” he’d add with a shameless wink, “I think _I’d_ prefer—”

Roses, or daisies, or any of their other colorful flowers they sold, depending on the customer and who they were buying for.

All in all, a flower shop hadn’t been his first choice and his music would always be the ultimate goal but he actually did find little joys in the job, like admiring some of their more _attractive_ customers. Like Triss, who worked down the street. She was absolutely gorgeous, and yet Jaskier hadn’t felt drawn to her like he should’ve. Might have a year ago.

He supposed that wasn’t such a bad thing, just gave him more free time to focus on his music.

It was a random weekday when Jaskier’s life changed suddenly and drastically; he didn’t know it at the time, of course, but he would later. He was arranging some flowers at the counter, humming the tune he’d been working on for weeks, when the bell above the door went off and he lifted his head. Entering the store was—an _unusual_ sight.

It was a man, which wasn’t all that odd, but he was impossibly broad-shouldered with white hair pulled out of his face and the most striking eyes he had ever seen. He felt a familiar pull; the pull of attraction. Had it really been that long?

Jaskier watched silently as he walked up to one of their arrangements, roses and gardenias, with a frown. Obviously buying for a sweetheart. Jaskier smiled a little, slipping out from behind the counter.

“May I help you?” he asked politely as he approached; the man turned to him, mouth twisting oddly. He didn’t look _angry_ , just wholly uncomfortable.

“I need—flowers,” the man said gruffly, and Jaskier let out a soft laugh, glancing around.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he replied, and got a bit of joy out of the man’s look of embarrassment.

He cleared his throat. “Lilacs,” he specified.

Jaskier nodded, easily turning around. “Follow me.” He led him to the right stand. “I can tie them together with a ribbon if you want,” he said as the man picked a bundle up and sniffed them. “We have every color under the rainbow.”

He silently nodded his approval and followed him to the counter. Jaskier gently set the flowers down as he ducked under the counter.

“Color?”

There was a short pause. “Purple.”

Jaskier plucked the purple ribbon and stood back up. They were both silent as he tied the ribbon. Finished, he looked up.

“For a girlfriend?” he asked, unable to help himself. At his confused look, he continued: “Wife?”

“What? No,” he replied stiffly. “A friend.”

Jaskier smiled slightly. “Right, a _friend_.”

“No,” he repeated steadily. “A friend.”

Jaskier blinked, surprised. “Oh.” He glanced down at the flowers. “Well, how about on the house, then?” he continued easily, holding the flowers out to him. The man stared at him, a perfect blend of skeptic and grateful. He slowly took them. Jaskier grinned as their fingers brushed, just a light touch that left him feeling dizzy. “Just promise your continued patronage and we’ll call it even.”

*

Geralt had no need for flowers after Yennefer’s birthday and yet he still found himself returning just days later. He hadn’t told her or Eskel and Lambert about the shop, or the attractive employee, knowing they would tease him relentlessly.

When he opened the door to the shop, the bell deafening to his sensitive ears, he immediately spotted Jaskier behind the counter. It was late—he knew from the hours posted on the window that they would be closing soon—and the place was dead empty, which might’ve explained why Jaskier was situated on the stool and lightly strumming a guitar.

Not an electric, obviously, but an old-fashioned wooden one that looked well-used and well-loved.

Jaskier startled when he saw him, quickly shoving his guitar down behind the counter. “If the boss asks, you definitely did not see that,” he said with a crooked grin.

Geralt walked to the counter; it was warm in the shop, far too warm for his jacket. He shed it, and felt a surge of pride as Jaskier’s eyes raked over his arms. “My lips are sealed,” he assured him.

“Back for more, uh, lilacs?” he asked as he licked his lips. Geralt wished suddenly that he knew how to do this, how to— _flirt_ , he supposed. He had never bothered to learn before, had never wanted to. His last relationship had been years ago and it wasn’t like he had done much flirting even then; Renfri had been the one to approach him, pursue _him_.

Lambert teased him about it often, as if it was _easy_ to date with their secret.

Eskel was the only one currently in a relationship and the woman was sweet enough the few times Geralt had met her briefly but he knew it wouldn’t last, not with the secrecy. They’d had many discussions early on about when or how or _if_ they should tell others but had never reached an agreement. With Renfri, she had known before she met him, somehow. He had never asked her about it; she always had been too smart for her own good.

“Not quite,” he replied finally. “I was hoping for—” He took the plunge: “What’s your favorite flower?”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and bright. The bluest eyes Geralt had ever seen. “Dandelions,” he replied breezily. “And don’t you _dare_ say they aren’t a flower," he added with the bitterness of a man who'd had the argument more than once. It was painfully endearing.

Geralt ignored the slight off-beat thump of his heart. “I was hoping to buy some dandelions,” he said, and Jaskier laughed softly.

“What a _speculator_ choice,” he said with a wink as he moved out from behind the counter. “Lucky for you, my dear customer—” he tapped a finger to Geralt’s chest; the touch was like fire, even through his many layers “—we _just_ got a new batch the other day and we’re having a special sale.” Geralt raised an eyebrow, waiting. Jaskier grinned cheekily. “On the house for handsome customers in leather jackets.”

*

When Geralt entered the apartment with a bundle of dandelions, tied with a blue ribbon because Jaskier’s eyes were blue, _so_ blue, he should’ve expected the look of confusion from Eskel and Lambert, both lounging on the couch.

“Don’t say a word,” were the first words out of his mouth, gruff and low.

He went to the kitchen to search for a vase. Did they even _own_ a vase? Probably not.

He heard their footsteps long before they said anything; lingering in the doorway and watching him. Geralt found a cup that would have to do—he’d buy a vase later—and filled it with water. “What?” he snapped finally, turning around.

Lambert was grinning, sharp as a blade. Eskel was smiling as well, a little softer.

“Were you gifted those?” Eskel asked, always kinder than Lambert but just as painfully annoying.

Lambert snorted, walking over and reaching for the dandelions. Geralt quickly smacked his hand away.

“Smells of a human,” he remarked to Eskel. “A man. Young.”

Geralt growled. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he grumbled as Eskel walked over and took a whiff of the dandelions. He lifted his gaze to Geralt, eyes twinkling.

“I smell a lingering hint of _lust_ ,” he said. Geralt was silent, arms folding over his chest, as he knew what they wanted was a reaction. Bastards, the both of them. “Geralt, are you seeing someone?” he asked, and underneath the teasing tone was genuine curiosity and below that even a bit of hurt. Geralt had always been close to Eskel, and vice-versa. He hardly kept secrets from him, or even Lambert. “And you didn’t tell us?”

He sighed heavily, leaning against the counter. “I’m not seeing anyone,” he answered honestly. “I—”

Lambert grinned devilishly. “You just have a _crush_ ,” he teased. It wasn’t a question.

Geralt glared at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“We can smell it on you,” he replied instantly. He sniffed the air. “You _reek_.”

Eskel finally took pity on him; wrapping an arm around his shoulder, he squeezed gently. “Lambert, don’t be such a bastard. Geralt, we’re happy for you if that is the case.” He waited, as if sussing him out. He was no less a bastard, frankly.

Geralt took another deep breath. “Fine,” he said gruffly, still glaring at Lambert. “There might be… _someone_ ,” he finished through clenched teeth.

“Finally,” Lambert remarked. “Who is it?”

Geralt nearly laughed. “And why would I tell you _that?_ ” he asked. “You’d just harass the poor guy.”

Eskel feigned insult, a hand pressed over his heart. Lambert didn’t even bother, just shrugged shamelessly. Shaking his head, he grabbed the flowers on his way out of the kitchen and placed them on the table in the living room. 

When he retired to his room for the night, he found himself in the best mood he’d been in for weeks. 

*

Jaskier waited for Geralt to visit again, sure he would. He couldn't remember feeling like this, giddy and excited. Fuck, he felt like he was eighteen again. Unfortunately each day went by with no sign of him, and Jaskier was just starting to accept that he might _never_ return when—

The door opened late on a Monday and two men entered the shop, both just as broad-shouldered as Geralt, tall with a looming presence that made Jaskier fiddle with his apron as he approached them.

“Hello,” he greeted brightly. He wondered idly if they were _together_ before deciding probably not, based on context clues. They seemed close, certainly, but not in that way. Brothers, maybe.

Both of them had scars. _Like Geralt_ , Jaskier thought idly. The man with slightly longer brown hair had the worst of them all; Jaskier pointedly tried to avoid staring for too long.

“Polite little thing,” he heard, and his eyes snapped to the other man. He was watching Jaskier with a crooked grin, leaned to the side to speak to his companion lowly.

_Not_ low enough for Jaskier not to hear, and he wondered if that was an accident or not.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“You’re scaring him,” his companion elbowed him, hard, in the side, smiling at Jaskier. “We were just looking for a gift for—” He paused, long enough for Jaskier to know he was thinking of a lie. He ignored the heavy thump of his own heart. “A friend,” he said finally. “Do you have any suggestions? He’s a bit of a grump.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Follow me,” he said as he turned away and led them to their newest display.

He stood back and watched as they admired the display, speaking to each other in hushed voices. Finally one of them grabbed a bundle, shoving it carelessly under his arm. Jaskier silently led them to the counter.

Only once he had rung up the flowers did they speak again, and it was the _slightly_ less intimidating one:

“I’m Eskel,” he said, extending a hand. “And you are?”

Jaskier blinked at his hand before taking it. His skin was as rough as leather. “Jaskier,” he said, “but you would have known that if you’d looked at my name tag.”

The other man—Lambert, as he would learn later—let out a bark of laughter that made Jaskier’s cheeks flush as Eskel withdrew his hand and chuckled sheepishly.

“Attitude,” Lambert said. “No wonder.”

Eskel nodded, a thoughtful look his face as he took the flowers. “It was nice meeting you, Jaskier.”

*

“You went to his _shop?_ ” Geralt was asking when Eskel stepped out of the bathroom.

He sighed heavily at the sight of Lambert on the couch with Geralt glowering over him. “I thought we had agreed _not_ to tell him,” he said as he walked over.

Lambert shrugged. “You should’ve known better,” he replied simply before peering up at Geralt with a smirk. “He’s not my type, but I understand the appeal. Truly.”

“You probably scared away any chance I had with him,” Geralt growled. “ _Thanks_.”

Eskel sat next to Lambert. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said with a flap of his hand. “He seemed a lot more resilient than you’re giving him credit for.”

Geralt frowned, silent, as he glanced between the two of them. “I’ll be busy the next few days with a job,” he said finally, letting his shoulders drop a little. “Just—leave him be, okay?”

“Of course,” Eskel said. “Be safe.”

*

Lambert held the door open for him, and that was how he knew he was in an especially good mood, likely because fucking with Geralt was his favorite hobby. Eskel ducked in and was met with the sight of Jaskier, stocking shelves.

He nodded silently at Lambert before walking over. “Need a hand?”

Jaskier startled, looking up with wide eyes. Eskel could smell a hint of disappointment, like he’d been expecting someone else. Geralt, most likely. “I’m fine,” he said as turned toward him. “But thank you.”

“Expecting someone else?” he asked, and Jaskier pursed his lips, eyeing him skeptically.

He had attitude, and seemed smart, not all that different from Renfri. (Or Yennefer, though they had never officially dated, just spent a few nights together early in their relationship.) Geralt certainly had a type.

When he didn’t answer, Lambert slithered up and threw an arm around Eskel, wearing a too-sweet smile that looked unnatural on his face. “He was waiting for Geralt, I bet,” he said, and Eskel nearly cursed when he saw Jaskier stiffen, taking a quick step back.

“Shut up, Lambert,” he shot out. “We’re his—brothers,” he said, falling back on the well-used excuse. They were like brothers, in all the ways that counted, even if they had come from different places.

Jaskier still didn’t look entirely convinced, though he did relax slightly. “Is he here?” he asked, blue eyes wide with hope.

“He’s on a job,” Eskel answered truthfully. “But he’ll be back.”

Jaskier nodded, standing a little taller. At full height, he wasn’t actually much shorter than them. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be here.”

*

Even Eskel had his limits, or so he liked to think, but Lambert could be annoyingly persuasive. “Geralt can be a fool,” he was saying as they stood by their bikes, waiting for Jaskier to leave. “I think it is our right, as _brothers_ , to make sure he isn’t being played. For all we know Jaskier could be a—”

“Our medallions would’ve warned us,” he interrupted smoothly, and Lambert clicked his tongue.

“Not if he’s a werewolf. Or a mage, like Yennefer. Or a—”

Eskel nudged him, hard. “I understand,” he interrupted again, “but you are aware we look like creeps right now, yes?” He glanced around; a woman was watching them from a few blocks down. He raised a hand and waved. She stiffly turned away and walked off. _Smart_ , he thought.

“Don’t pretend to be above stalking,” he replied. “I am certain you’ve done this many times.”

Eskel’s mouth twitched with the start of a smile. “Yes, when I was hunting. _Beasts_. Not a human.”

“Humans can be worse than any beast,” he said, and there was a genuine bitterness there. Eskel nodded his understanding.

Finally the door opened across the street and Jaskier stepped out, a case on his back. Eskel squinted. “Is that—?”

“A musician,” Lambert chuckled. “Now I’m _really_ starting to understand the appeal.”

Eskel smacked him. “Come on, get on,” he said, grabbing his helmet. “If we’re going to be stalkers for the night—” He pulled his helmet on and threw a leg over his bike “—might as well fucking commit.”

*

Geralt hated clubs, frankly, but he had a job to do. “What is with vampires and clubs,” he muttered under his breath as he kept watch from the bar, sipping on a beer. He knew why they frequented clubs, logically, lots of human—their favorite prey—and dark corners to drag them to, but he didn’t have to be _happy_ about it.

His nose twitched; a familiar smell, and decidedly _not_ one of blood. Geralt spun around.

“Jaskier,” he said.

He was grinning, bright-eyed. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said as he leaned on the bar. He looked even better than he remember. “You didn’t really strike me as the club type.”

Geralt shrugged stiffly. “I’m not,” he admitted, and Jaskier tilted his head to the side.

“You could always… leave,” he said, glancing toward the exit.

Geralt couldn’t, not yet, but he still had to know. “Is that an invitation?” he asked, and felt his heart jump at Jaskier’s darkening eyes, the way he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Would be,” Jaskier replied finally, pushing off from the bar, “but I’m here for a reason.” Geralt noticed his guitar.

“You’re playing?” he asked, somehow surprised.

Jaskier sighed. “I know, I know, not exactly the _ideal_ audience—” He glanced around, scrunching his nose. “But I take what I can get.” He turned back to Geralt, smiling; there was something almost shy about the way he batted his eyelashes. _Weak_ , said a voice in the back of his head that sounded annoyingly like Lambert, or Yennefer. A mix of both. "Will you stay and watch?"

Geralt's mouth was suddenly dry as Jaskier stared at him, waiting. He struggled for words. “Break a leg,” he blurted suddenly.

With a soft laugh, Jaskier disappeared from sight, his hand brushing Geralt’s arm as he walked away, obviously not an accident. Sighing, Geralt turned back to the bar.

“Fuckers,” he said without looking. “Are you _stalking_ him?”

Lambert slithered up next to him, leaning back against the bar. “We were just making sure he was safe for you,” he said loftily. “And he is—safe. _Boringly_ safe.”

“He’s just jealous,” Eskel said from his other side. “He seems like a decent guy, Geralt.”

Geralt grunted. He knew that. _Obviously_ , he knew that or else he wouldn’t want him so badly. Suddenly Lambert was gripping his arm, just the edge of too hard. He cut his eyes at him, opening his mouth, but the question—“What is it?”—died on his tongue as he, too, picked up on it; the faint smell of blood.

“Fuck,” he cursed. He had been distracted, and now an innocent person was paying for his carelessness.

Geralt pushed away from the bar and elbowed his way through the endless stream of bodies, the smell of blood mixing with alcohol and perfume, hard to follow. Finally he found where the smell was strongest; near the back of the club. He followed the wall until he reached the emergency door and noticed it was slightly ajar.

Quickly slipping through the crack, he swore again at the sight:

Jaskier, pressed up against the side of the building with the heavy scent of blood in the air. A dark figure held him there. Once he noticed Geralt, he pulled his teeth out of Jaskier's neck and turned toward him, showcasing rows and rows of sharp fangs. Geralt barely even noticed Eskel and Lambert had followed him until Eskel was shouting, “Take him— _go!_ ”

Geralt moved instinctively; as soon as they’d gotten the vampire’s attention, Geralt rushed to grab Jaskier. He slumped against him, weightless. Picking him up, he turned and rushed out of the alleyway. He didn’t worry for Eskel or Lambert, knowing they could take of themselves.

*

Unsure of where to go, he found himself at Jaskier’s shop, closer than their apartment, fishing the key out of Jaskier’s pocket. Inside, he gently placed Jaskier on the ground and assessed the damage to his neck. Thankfully he had gotten there before the vampire had taken too much blood. Jaskier should be fine, if a little tired for the next few days. No different from donating blood. Shrugging his bag off, he found some ointment Yennefer had given him and applied it to the wound with gentle fingers. He watched with a sigh as the bleeding stopped.

Jaskier didn’t wake. Lambert and Eskel eventually arrived; they looked exhausted, but safe.

“ _This_ is why we shouldn’t involve ourselves with humans,” Lambert said, and Geralt lifted his head to glare at him, fire in his eyes.

Eskel stepped in front of Lambert and crouched near them. “We should call Yennefer,” he said, far softer than Lambert, a note of pity in his voice. “Wipe his memory.”

Geralt stiffened. “No,” he said instantly.

“He’s going to have questions, Geralt,” Lambert said. “We can’t risk it.”

Geralt knew he was right, and yet—“ _No_ ,” he repeated firmly. “I will answer his questions.”

Eskel stared at him with that same pitying look in his eyes. “We’ve discussed this, Geralt, many times. Even if you wanted to tell him, we can’t trust that he’ll be able to handle it. Or won’t share the information with others.”

“You wouldn’t even be here to talk me out of it if you hadn’t stuck your nose in _my_ business,” he grumbled, glancing at Jaskier. He looked peaceful in his sleep, even under the circumstances. There was a long pause. “I’m telling him, Eskel.”

Lambert growled. “You barely _know_ him!”

“He’s right,” Eskel said. “You need to think sensibly. Yennefer wouldn’t have to take all his memories of you, just from tonight.”

Geralt shook his head. “I don’t care. Call her if you must, but I’m telling him.” He lifted his gaze, a silent challenge. Lambert took a step forward, closer, but then Eskel stood and put an arm out in front of him. Geralt felt endless love for the man.

“Eskel,” Lambert said in disbelief.

He sighed. “It is his choice to make. If he thinks Jaskier is to be trusted, so do I.”

It took a few minutes before Eskel was able to force Lambert out of the shop with him. Finally alone, Geralt sat properly next to Jaskier. He felt wrong, touching him without his permission, beyond what had to be done for the bleeding, so he didn’t.

He had no qualms about watching him, however, drank in selfishly the sight of him.

It was hours later when Jaskier finally let out a quiet groan, eyelashes fluttering. Geralt stiffened, waiting for the worst, but Jaskier simply blinked a few times, eyes adjusting, before turning his head to the side to look at him.

“What the _fuck_ , Geralt,” he said, and he found himself unable to hold back a laugh.

*

They sat and talked all night; when the sun started to rise, Jaskier forced himself off the ground, legs shaky from sitting for so long, to prepare for the morning. He squinted at Geralt as he tied his apron around his waist. “And you’re totally—not a doubt in the world—sure that I’m not a vampire now?”

He opened his mouth a tad, poking at his canines. Geralt smiled a little.

“Myth,” he confirmed with a short nod. “You aren’t turned by biting. You are still entirely human, Jaskier.”

Jaskier nodded back. “Thank God,” he said. He had already removed the blood from Jaskier’s clothes with a special blend Yennefer had given him.

(“You will _have_ to get me some of that,” Jaskier had said in awe.)

“Eskel and Lambert,” he said suddenly as Jaskier skittered around the shop, preparing to open. He had just been victim to a vampire and yet still planned to open the shop. Eskel and Lambert had doubted him. Geralt had known better, somehow. Since the moment he had first seen Jaskier he had felt like he'd known him for a very long time. Had just been waiting to find him. “They didn’t want me to tell you.”

He paused at the door, turning around. “Why not?”

Geralt ignored the burning in his chest. If Jaskier made one mistake, told the wrong person, he knew he’d have no choice but to listen to them and ask Yennefer to wipe his memory. He couldn't risk their lives—the lives of hundreds—for his own selfish desire. “This is a secret for a reason,” he said. “You can’t tell a soul, Jaskier, not even your friends. Or family. It isn't just me, or even them, but many of us that rely on that secrecy." 

Jaskier smiled slightly. “Not very many friends to tell,” he admitted. “And honestly I kind of always felt like there was— _more_ to this. To life than what I could see." He paused, looking almost unsure. "Does that make sense?"

He nodded. "Yes."

Jaskier unlocked the door and walked back over, placing a hand on Geralt’s arm. His touch was like fire and ice all at once, a shock to his system. If he didn't know better, well, he'd say Jaskier _wasn't_ entirely human. But no, the power he held over Geralt had nothing to do with that. “I would very much like to see you again,” he said softly.

“The flowers I bought the other day,” Geralt said. “Last I checked they were withering.”

Jaskier grinned; how he could look so joyful after last night, he didn’t know, but he knew he had made the right choice. “Well, luckily we still have some dandelions in stock.” He winked. “Unfortunately I _will_ be expecting payment this time. No more free handouts, even if you did just save my life."

Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so much in twenty-four hours.

He was hardly complaining.

*

“You can stop it, you know,” Jaskier said as he worked, tongue peeking out from between his lips from his concentration. “I think I have proven myself quite trustworthy if I do say so myself.”

It had been a few months since that night, and Jaskier was still in the early stages of a relationship with Geralt. Unfortunately Geralt and his brothers were a package deal. Eskel and Lambert showed up at his shop at least twice a week. At first, they would bombard him with questions—“have you told anyone, have you felt compelled to?”—but _now_ they just visited to…

Well, annoy Jaskier mostly.

Lambert snatched a rose from the arrangement he’d been working on, ignoring Jaskier’s glare. “Oh, no, we know.” He sniffed it with a sigh. “You are just _so_ fun to tease. Better than Geralt; he’s gotten to the point he doesn’t react at all, the boring bastard.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, grabbing the rose back. He worked silently as they idly roamed the shop; at least they had the decency to occasionally purchase something. When he heard footsteps again, he looked up. Lambert was nowhere to be seen, just Eskel.

He smiled at him, a little unsure. Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

“I was wrong,” he said. “For trying to talk him out of telling you,” he elaborated. “I—I have never seen him like this. So— _happy_. It was a little unsettling at first,” he admitted. Jaskier finally cracked, smiling. Eskel seemed to relax a bit. “But I’m glad to see it. That he seems to have found something real, with you.” He ducked his head. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said, meaning it. “I would never do anything to hurt Geralt. Or you and Lambert.” As much as they teased him, Jaskier actually _liked_ Eskel and Lambert. 

Eskel lifted his gaze, looking mildly surprised, just as the door to the shop opened. Jaskier peered over his shoulder and Eskel knew that it was Geralt by the sheer joy in his bright eyes. Running out from behind the counter, he greeted him with a quick kiss.

“Have they been bothering you?” he asked, nearly a growl as he slid his arms around Jaskier’s waist.

Jaskier glanced at Eskel, then Lambert, before turning back to him. “Nothing you can’t make up for with your lovely presence,” he said with a wink.

He tilted his chin up, silently asking for another kiss. Geralt obliged with a low hum, kissing him deeply. The fact Jaskier hadn’t been fired yet was a miracle. Lambert groaned loudly, turning away. “Jesus, do you have to? My eyes are _sensitive_.”

Pulling away, Geralt glared at the back of his head. “You choose to harass my partner, you see our kisses,” he said blandly. “Fair deal.”

Lambert glanced at Eskel for help but he simply shrugged, arms folded over his chest. “He has a point.”

“Traitor,” he mumbled.


End file.
